The origins of the Priory of Sion Part 3: Cocteau, Grandmaster of the Angelic Society?

 

"The Hypnerotomachia has become a bible for a cult without a master” was the conclusion of Joscelyn Godwin about the enigmatic book. Barrès told us that he considered the Angelic Society to be an organisation of people who seemed to share a specific devotion to angels. The Angelic Society and the Dream of Poliphili seem to have a connection of some sorts, but equally with the mystery of Rennes-le-Château… and even the Priory of Sion. Should we add to this already explosive mix the figure of Jean Cocteau? We know that Cocteau met Maurice Barrès, for he spoke of these visits, which occurred during the First World War… at a time when the events that occurred on Sion-Vaudemont and which would become so important to Barrès were becoming well-known. Coincidence? Divine providence? Or perhaps coordinated efforts?

Grandmaster or Grand fake?

It is in the Lobineau papers that we see the list of grandmasters of the Priory of Sion. It is the tandem of Pierre Plantard and Gérard de Sède who have shown us this route to these documents, who would otherwise have gathered nothing but dust on the shelves of the French National Library. Amongst the names of former grandmasters is the name of Jean Cocteau. Ridiculous? It is in the eyes of the sceptics.
There is nevertheless a link between Cocteau and one of his so-called predecessors on this list of “grandmasters”: in 1959, Cocteau contributes to a work on Leonardo Da Vinci, for which he writes one of his famous poems: “Homage to Leonardo”, stating that his work express “better than this short work [i.e. his own contribution] that what Leonardo inspired me to do and the fraternal love I have for him.” Fraternal love… is this not typically used by members of certain types of secret or initiatory societies – a brotherhood? In this case, would the rules that apply to Freemasonry equally apply to the Priory of Sion, or some similar type of fraternity?

To die, to live

To quote from a Masonic ritual: “to be initiated, is learning how to die.” The phrase goes back to at least ancient Greece. The “mystery” was all about the need to “die while alive”; an initiation meant being given access to a group of people who themselves had “died”… or who rather no longer feared the ordeal of death… for they already had walked about in this border territory. Several organisations, such as the Freemasons and the Rosicrucians, placed a coffin or tombs in the centre of their initiation ceremonies. It was also said, and this from Antiquity onwards, in such cults such as that of Eleusis, that these initiates had received their “wings”, that they had access to the skies… wings such as those of the angels, who descended from heaven to speak with these initiates!

Heurtebise and the secret

We note that in the cult of Eleusis, it is to the Underworld, the Kingdom of the dead, that Persephone descends, to return from there with the privilege of becoming the mother of a divine child.
The “descent into the underworld” is one of the major themes in the films of Jean Cocteau. It appears in “Blood of a Poet”, where he is already developing the theme that will later surface in his famous “Orpheus” and its sequel, “The Testament of Orpheus”. What to think of what the angel Heurtebise states: “I give you the secret of secrets. Mirrors are gates through which the dead come and go. All of you, look at your life in a mirror and you see death at work.” From where did this enter Cocteau’s mind? Did he read about it, learn about it through some “initiation” in a society or order, such as the “true” Priory of Sion? Or did he receive it through some innate psychic or spiritual quality he possessed?

Angels in Paris

To state that Cocteau was grandmaster of the Priory of Sion, from 1918 (when he was 29) onwards nevertheless shows that whoever said so, was perfectly aware of the events of our poet’s life. For it is in the years leading up to 1918 that the poet seems to have lived through an internal awakening. It began in 1910: “the first sound of the bell, which will finish only with my death, was given to me by Diaghilev, one night, on the place de la Concorde […] As I questioned him on his reserve (I was accustomed to the praises), he stopped, adjusted his monocle and said to me: ‘Astonish me.’ […] This sentence saved me from a brilliant career. I guessed that one does not astonish Diaghilev. From this minute onwards, I decided to die and live again. The work was long and atrocious.” The amateurs of sacred geography and ancient mysteries will appreciate the specific location of this revelation, which occurred at the foot of the obelisk of Luxor, in front of the Louvre.
In 1919, Cocteau publishes a book on which he was working since 1913, The Potomak. It was a long pregnancy, resulting in a disconcerting work which is a mixture of a novel, poetry and autobiographical elements, all of this laced with drawings, which on first sight seem to have little in common with the text. This is often the form “imposed” by the “parliamentarians of the unknown” when they dictate a work to the writer. About what did these mysterious inspirations want to talk? What message did they want to transmit? The Potomak talks about a monster living in an aquarium… underneath the place de la Madeleine, in Paris. And when this monster becomes invisible, it sends waves, the only means for him of expressing his existence. What to think of that? Is it merely an exercise in and of the imagination, or is there more to it? Why mix this history with Mary Magdalene and a creature confined to a subterranean world? Only Cocteau seems to know.

The preparation of the initiate to be

If the realisation of the place de la Concorde provoked in Cocteau an awakening (the first step that is required for any initiation), the publication of The Potomak corresponded to a true second birth, which is the “initiation” itself. “Since The Potomak, I search my way and I will search just until my death.” Strong words, which many have not noted or seen for what they are. From that point onwards, Cocteau could indeed have lived a double life: in one, he is a writer; in the other, he is an initiate, using the liberties of his first life to pass on, without drawing any attention to it, messages from the second. And we note that the “Lobineau list” identifies this year 1919 as the year Cocteau took up the captaincy of their movement.

Cocteau appears to be one of those people who seemed to benefit from an “occult protection”. Whereas certain artists do battle with all their might, throughout all of their life, in the hope of attaining some recognition for their work, this poet on the other hand seems to have been given most on a silver plate. He has success in whatever he does, whether it is poetry, theatre, a novel, painting or a movie. Blessed by the fairies in his cradle, he was accompanied until his death by an angel.
Perhaps it is through this bias that Cocteau starts to ponder the famous adventure that befell two English women, Charlotte Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain, in the gardens of Trianon in Versailles. These two women, whose reputation has never been put in doubt, have an “out of time” experience, finding themselves three centuries back in time, and meet the path of people of which some even address them in person. This incident, which occurred in 1901, was studied by several explorers of the supernatural. Cocteau, who one day would be labelled the “first poet of parapsychology”, could obviously not remain indifferent. For him, it was “one of the most important experiences of our time”.

The initiation of Cocteau

It is 1925. Cocteau, having visited a friend, is in an elevator. Suddenly, he feels the presence, right besides him, of “something both terrible and eternal”. This “thing” identifies itself: “My name can be found on the plaque.” There is only one plaque, and it lists the maker of the elevator: “Heurtebise.”
The unknown, which for years has been sending its “parliamentarians” to Cocteau, has therefore finally decided to reveal itself. From then onwards, Heurtebise accompanies Cocteau in all of his works. Or, rather, he shows him what road to take and thus guarantees that Cocteau will follow the path that has been set out for him by the angel. Even though he is now “officially” helped by the forces of the invisible, he is definitely not free to do as he pleases.

"Angel, soldier of the nine sisters
You know what is on the chart
My mysterious way
And as soon as I deviate
You seize me by the hand."

The angel Heurtebise makes appearances under several guises in the work of Cocteau. A glazier in the theatre production of Orpheus, a driver of the princess in the movie Orpheus in the Underworld, he will even be the judge of Orpheus in The Testament of Orpheus. If the functions of driver (a man who knows the road, who knows where to go) and judge (the one who gives verdicts and makes sure the game is played conform to the rules) convene well with a superior being, the profession of glazing seems quite bizarre. Except, of course, if there is a reference to the patron saint of glazers. This saint, who also protects the mirror markers, masters of the double inversion, is named Saint Clair. A name that is important, for it will one day be adopted by Pierre Plantard, added to his name. It may be a coincidence, but if there is an Angelic Society, it is clear that from 1925 onwards, Cocteau is one of its members.
When speaking of mirrors, we should also pay attention to Saunière, who has often underlined the importance of inversions in some of the works he has installed in Rennes-le-Château. We note that in the 1950s, special effects were in their infancy, but Cocteau made spectacular sequences, by reversing a filmed sequence, thus able to make candles come alight, etc. As such, Cocteau is equally a master of the inversion.
But Rennes-le-Château. Do we really need to make this link? Still, it was Cocteau himself who always invited readers and spectators to go beyond appearances. “The Testament, he explained, is only one machine to manufacture significances. The film proposes to the spectator hieroglyphs, which he can interpret in his own way.”

Two worlds

From the time when the angel has manifested itself, the entire work of Cocteau is set into an ambiguous universe, something of a “in between two worlds”, where gods and human beings meet, the dead frequent the living (amongst which we find impostors and beings with double personalities), all of this with the immediate realisation that reality is less closed off than we think and that there exists, for those who are able to find it, places from which to passage from one into the other. The passage from one world to the next is a mirror. Knowledge of this “gateway” is therefore in the domain of transgressions. Also, the judge Heurtebise accuses Orpheus to “always, incessantly, wishing to penetrate, fraudulently, in a world that is not yours”. And so, it seems, is Cocteau, in his films.

Orpheus, Cocteau… and Perillos?

The theme of Orpheus, so central for Cocteau, is a popular theme. Orpheus equals the descent into the underworld. It is the central theme of all initiations: the descent into the kingdom of Death, from which one is trying to escape… alive. It is equally the mission of the ancient priests, the shamans; it is a dangerous mission, which requires extensive preparation, often accomplished with the help of spirit guardians… angels?
For most people, Orpheus is nothing “but” a legend amongst several others, all similar and variations on a theme. But for Jean Cocteau, this is clearly not the case. Furthermore, we note that Delacroix, Poussin and other “angelic people” often paint this legend too. But to this list, we can add another person who has also taken this difficult path, both imaginary and real: Ramon de Perillos. He, in 1397, enters the world of the dead (in St Patrick’s Purgatory in Ireland) to find the soul of his deceased king. And he returns with this remarkable observation: “and now I know the entrance to the other world.” Coincidence? Providence? Or a simple statement of fact whose importance that has been overlooked for too long?

The Priory, at the time of Cocteau

Did André Malraux profit from the powers of the State to be able to organise digs in Gisors that were the direct outcome of information which Pierre Plantard had at his disposal? We know that the latter, using the name “Captain Way”, was, between 1956 and 1958, responsible for the “Committees of Public Safety”, which are the preparatory work to get General de Gaulle to power. André Malraux is one of de Gaulle’s closest advisors. The General works with “secret companions, working according to a certain idea for France”. But André Malraux has known Jean Cocteau well, this since the 1920s. Both men are born from the literary circles that existed before the Second World War. A possible encounter between Pierre Plantard and the “designated” grandmaster of a hypothetical Priory of Sion could therefore be seen as possible, and this could occur far away from artistic circles, within the group of people who want to transform France.

Jean Marais

This may seem spurious, but there is some evidence. For this, we need to quote from an interview that Pierre Plantard gave to the French journalist Jean-Luc Chaumeil, and which was published in Pégase, in November 1973. Chaumeil is talking about how perhaps the Priory of Sion is controlled by another, very powerful, group. Plantard gives a rather laconic reply: “You are very well informed.” At the end of the interview, he recommends to Chaumeil to “read the work of Lobineau, for, on the one but last page, you will find a nice list [the list of grandmasters]. Do you know Jean Marais?” Chaumeuil: “No.” Plantard : "Phone him. He is a good friend of Lobineau."
This leaves us perplexed – though not, it seems, Chaumeil. Jean Marais is the companion – lover – of Jean Cocteau. This is an uncontested fact, for after the war, they buy a house in Milly-la-Forêt together, where Cocteau will live until the end of his life (1963).
So Marais was a good friend of Lobineau, according to Plantard. Lobineau was the pseudonym under which the famous “Secret Dossiers” of the Priory of Sion were written, which were initially used by Gérard de Sède to write “The Gold of Rennes”. In short, Lobineau leads us to the very roots of the Priory of Sion. So what is Plantard trying to do – even if he were only joking! – by stating that Lobineau is a “good friend” of Jean Marais?
Marais was a very famous actor, frequented by “le beau monde”, but at the same time, that same group of people was frequented by Cocteau, for the two were an item. And some would argue that Marais’ fame only truly came about because of Cocteau. It is of course possible that Plantard merely used the name of Marais to give added credentials to his Priory of Sion. But at the same time, one has to wonder. Irrelevant of whether he was grandmaster of the Priory of Sion, Jean Cocteau seems to be, in all circumstances, a key player of this game. And we have just found out that he should have a prominent place in the “secret history” of France, though few seem to have realised it.

Rennes-le-Château and the shadow of Cocteau

The history of the Priory of Sion could be seen as a string of lies, and a series of faked documents each trying to validate the other fake. Still, if there are still some serious people left, debating the mystery, it is solely because of the fact that in spite of all of these inventions and lies, there remain a few disturbing elements.
For example, these “genuine fakes”, these documents, seem to rise out of a magician’s hat, but at the same time, there are real people, who come from afar, such as the arrival of the Parisian artist Alain Féral in Rennes-le-Château. The tourists who stop by the bookshop in the village, from the 1980s onwards, often are unaware that the man who is serving them, once knew Jean Cocteau… intimately. He was once member of a group of musicians who were named after one of Cocteau’s works, “Les Enfants Terribles”. Féral possesses some other artistic qualities, in other artistic domains. Cocteau became interested in him, seeing him as one of his students. From his perspective, Féral saw Cocteau as an artistic guide (like Heurtebise seemed to guide Cocteau): not such much guiding him as an artist, but more like a mentor, a philosophical and spiritual guide. Coincidence, or design, therefore that he ends up in Rennes-le-Château, the very centre of the controversy with which his guide had become embroiled with?
It would be a major coincidence, seeing how little populated Rennes-le-Château really is and seeing that he is one of the inner circle of the man who is claimed to be the grandmaster of the Priory of Sion! Statistically, the odds are low. And Féral did not just stay in the village for holidays; he stayed there for more than twenty years, at one time even living in the presbytery. Why?

For anyone who runs into him in the region (he still lives locally) and who asks him whether or not Jean Cocteau could have been the head of this mysterious Priory, he answers “no” and states it is all made up. At the same time, Alain Féral has made an extremely detailed study, in fact the best, of the church and domain of Saunière, as well as a spectacular scale model that finds admiration with anyone who has seen it. And it shows, thanks to his tremendous amount of work, certain subterranean passages, as well as other details that the casual tourist would never expect to find there… even though sometimes they walk within inches of it. Is it all a coincidence? Unlikely. And though we do share Féral’s opinion that Cocteau was not involved with the Priory of Sion, it is clear that Cocteau was part of a bigger whole, and that this bigger whole does have some bearing on the mystery of Rennes-le-Château. And it is my opinion that Plantard and co. merely brought together some of these elements, and tried to transform the puzzle into something of their own making.

“He is there, dead”

The mortal remains of Jean Cocteau reside in Milly-la-Forêt, in a chapel whose walls are painted by the master himself. One side of the structure is totally dedicated to a religious theme: the resurrection of Christ. This idea of resurrection is always very close to the heart of Cocteau. For sure, the theme is at the heart of the Catholic Church, if not at the core of its very existence. But when we look at this fresco more closely, we immediately note that there are certain items that are not conform the dogma. As Cocteau said himself: we need to look beyond the things as they seem to be. So: why are there two crowns of thorns? We can only think of the church of Saunière, in which we have two “Jesus as a child”, they too placed prominently in the choir. Does Cocteau wish us to ponder whether there was a double of Christ? The second crown, on the right, also seems to be somewhat more surreal than the other. It is in fact an angel who discovers it, while lifting up a veil, whereas the niche in which the other is placed “accidentally”, is next to the depiction of a Roman soldier. Christ, standing, has his aureole, as he should have. Around his head? No, around his hand! It is therefore impossible not to remark how his index finger is pointing towards the sky. As such, the Christ as painted by Cocteau makes the sign that is typically associated with John the Baptist, including in the paintings of this saint as executed by Leonardo Da Vinci. But it is clear that times have changed, for in his time, Leonardo Da Vinci would never have dared to be so clear about it! Cocteau, who stated he had this “fraternal bond” with our Florentine artist, similarly used this church to convey his message – and decided that this was where he wanted his mortal remains to remain… while his spirit lived in the Angelic Realm?

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